Five Fingers of Fury
by lostlikeme
Summary: Sequel to "Mindfuck." Mob accidentally texts Reigen a dirty photo, so Reigen gives him a hands on lesson in photography. Warning for explicit content and underage.


What exactly am I dealing with here? The foundation of the building shakes from the power of my scream. It's worse than a cursed image, a fetish for balloon animals, or being strapped to an oven and having fruit hurled at your dick! My features twist and the mobile phone slips through my fingers and clatters to the floor. This is none other than...child pornography!

That is what I was looking at, right? I retrieve my phone with a trembling fist, mentally bracing myself for the horror on the other side as I unlock the screen. It's such a piece of crap that it takes forever just to open my messages. (I was supposed to upgrade last year but I'm not gonna let them pull the wool over my eyes with their dirty marketing tactics!) I place a finger on my chin as I examine the photo, left eyelid twitching, lip curled.

If only I could unsee the pale angle of Mob's hips and the casual way he's untucked his shirt and inched down the waistband of his gym shorts. He's small for his age, with soft patchy pubes, and a clean, uncut cock. Just how old is Mob, anyway? He's been nothing but a kid for as long as I can remember, but that can't be right.

Even when using my fingers, the numbers just don't add up! If I've renewed the lease for my apartment at least five times since we first met, and each term lasts two years, then that would make Mob at least...

Practically an adult, right? Didn't he invite me to a high school graduation recently? Or was that his middle school graduation? Oh, come on! There's no way he's that young. It's impossible.

Maybe it isn't such a big deal after all. Crushing on someone like me isn't totally unbelievable, is it? Like a fine wine, I've only ripened with age. Who could blame the kid for lusting after such a handsome, well respected business man like myself? Still, isn't sending a message like this to your boss a little bold, especially for someone like Mob?

"Kids these days," I mumble with a forlorn smile. "I truly was ahead of my time."

Since I'm an adult, I guess it's only fair that I take responsibility for clearing the air. I save the photo before responding, making sure to keep things strictly professional. Mob meets me in my office twenty minutes later, totally deadpan and unashamed. Given that I told him to come straight from club, he's still wearing his gym uniform, wrinkled and stained with sweat.

I muster up my most serious grownup voice. "I think you know what this is all about."

I ease two crystal glasses onto the table and take a deep breath. Mob looks up when I procure the wine, holding the bottle tightly between my thighs until I work out the cork with a pop. He raises his eyebrows but otherwise never shifts.

His voice is soft. "I do?"

There's no way he's this dense. "Mob, texting your superior something like this is…"

The adjectives pile up in the back of my head: tasteless, unfathomable, and beyond all reasonable doubt, totally, completely inappropriate! Somehow, none of the words make it past the tip of my tongue.

Mob bows his head without preamble. "My apologies for the mistake."

"Mistake?" The wine spills over the rim of the glass and I start choking on my own spit. Trust me, it's all part of the act. "You mean to tell me that…" My hands cut through the air with a whistle and my expression becomes grave. "Something like this was meant for Tsubomi?!"

The bottle drops with a thud before rolling across the floor where it spills crimson from the neck and pools around the glass like an inanimate crime scene. There's static electricity in the air like right before a thunderstorm. Maybe it's a sign that things are about to get real. Or maybe it's going to rain tonight. Did Mob remember to bring an umbrella? Wait! Did I?

"Ah, something like that." Mob scuffs his shoes together. "Is that a problem?'

How can he be so casual? Kids these days really have no shame. All the tech in the world can't make up for a total lack of finesse. In the end, practice trumps skill, four times out of five. Everybody knows that much, but this is hardly the kind of practice he had in mind.

"What you did here isn't actually that bad, just a bit amateur." Mob perks up, and the alcohol lay forgotten, staining the floor. "For starters, girls don't like it when you show just the dick! If you're going to photograph your own junk, at least spend a few minutes setting up the proper lighting."

I open the blinds without pulling them up, before quickly unbuttoning on my shirt. As long as I'm just giving Mob a few pointers, it's totally normal for him to see my nipples. It's not like he doesn't see this kind of thing in the showers at school or at the public bathhouse.

"Now come take a look at this." I wave him over but he remains rigid in the chair, hands folded in his lap. "See how the blinds cast a shadow over my stomach, and the sun makes my skin glow like marble?"

Mob nods, but I can tell it's only for my benefit. What's going through his head? The cellphone is pulled from my hands and toward the ceiling, before he turns back to me for guidance. The camera function is presumably operating, which means Mob's power can extend into controlling electronics.

"Like this?"

The lens is pointing directly at me, which normally is something I can get pretty into, but with Mob giving me that expectant look it's become just a little weird. The shutter sounds as he takes a ream of photos without ever leaving his seat.

"Clever," I admit. "I know I said you aren't supposed to use your powers for this kind of thing, but I'm going to make an exception, just this once."

Like always, Mob is a quick study. Eager to please, perceptive, and naturally hardworking to a fault. Stripped down to just my underwear, I heave my leg onto the desk and shoo the printer out of the way. What can I say? It's been awhile since I've had a captive audience.

"Wow, this really is better than a selfie stick! Make sure to get one of me flexing my manly thighs."

Time passes seamlessly until we round another hour and hit a wall. The memory on my phone is practically maxed out and I still can't stop thinking about how Mob's dick looked sticking out of his rucked up uniform. This is the kind of stuff nobody wants to talk about, and now I know why. It feels wrong, but that's part of what makes it so hot. It's hot wrong.

I slip into my pants and suck in my stomach until they're firmly fastened around my waist. The beginning of a boner feels a hell of a lot less embarrassing with my shirt and tie back on. What Mob doesn't see won't hurt him, right?

"How about we call it a day?"

Mob's head swivels and the phone falls through the air. I know the screen is going to crack before it hits the floor - the case I got is a cheap piece of shit, I could tell that much when I was haggling with the store clerk. It splinters against the tile, spraying bits of plastic around the room. It's unusually off color, especially for someone as unreadable as Mob.

"Hey," I'm saying, before he has a chance to overthink it. Once I steer the conversation in this direction, there's no turning back. Or maybe the time for turning back was before I offered to teach him how to take better photos for his future girlfriend. "You know about protection, right?"

"Yes," Mob says, refusing to glance in my direction.

"That's something, at least." The words start coming out before the thought has fully formed in my head. "Now like I was saying about Tsubomi - If you're going to act like an adult and become sexually active, you should at least be mature enough to discuss it first."

Mob nods, head sinking into his shoulders like a humiliated turtle. His entire face is pink - now that I'm thinking about it, maybe it has been for a while. It takes a little wiggling for all the pieces to come together, like a puzzle from the thrift store with worn edges.

"Mob, are you getting an erection?"

A poster unpeels itself from the wall and the television flickers on as it floats to the floor, filling the room with static. Mob carefully removes his hands from his lap to examine the obvious bulge in his shorts. It's pathetic in the cutest possible way, but I'm all the worse for liking it.

The air of nonchalance is gone when he speaks. "Ah, it would seem so."

I scrub a hand over my face and take a deep breath. "So that text wasn't meant for Tsubomi?"

"It was for you," Mob confesses quietly. "But I never intended to send it. That was Dimple."

Well, that explains it. The sentiment itself is more than a little flattering. An innocent kid like Mob taking a photo that lascivious to impress an old geezer like me? Although...if he wasn't going to send it, what exactly was its purpose?

"I see. So it's like that, is it?" There are too many sensitive factors at play for me to reject him outright. Someone with social skills this poor might never regain their confidence. Besides, this whole thing might be my fault in the first place. "Ever since before?"

The instruction I offered was supposed to be a one time deal, not some kind of gateway drug to me showing him the Five Fingers of Fury. That kind of a special move should only be used on adults, or he'll be totally ruined before he ever touches anyone his own age.

"Have you been able to do it on your own?" He doesn't make a noise, but he shakes his head. "Not even once?"

The wastebasket trembles but doesn't topple over. "Sorry."

"Listen, Mob. I know I helped you out before, but I don't think this is the kind of thing that should be happening between a mentor and his subordinate. What about kids your own age? I'm sure Teru would love to help you with your problem, and since he's an esper like you, there's no need to worry over insignificant matters like breaking the tv."

"But I like it when you teach me things." Silence stretches out while Mob twiddles his thumbs. "Psychic powers are useless when it comes to personal matters."

Who can argue with such sound logic? Not even a saint could resist a response like that. The clock ticks on the wall behind Mob's head. If we take much longer his brother is going to come snooping around. The last thing I need is someone finding out about our little tutoring sessions and getting the wrong idea.

"If that's the case, it can't be helped. There's no substitute for practical experience, right?"

I take him gently by the wrist, turn him around, and pull him against me so I can start with his shoulders. He keeps control tightly tethered, and he has the knots to prove it. I stare over his head at his bony, trembling legs, toes curled inside his socks. His skin starts to warm as I work out the tension from the back of his neck. He shivers when my knuckles graze his ear.

"You know, you really caught my attention with that photo earlier. I guess it's like they say, a picture really is worth a thousand words." I run my fingers over his rib cage and rest my hands around his waist. "But I bet the live version looks even better."

It's almost impossible to resist the urge to grind my dick into his ass, but somehow I manage. His knees knock together when I cup him through his clothes and start mapping out the familiar shape of his cock. All that time he spends with the Body Improvement Club is starting to pay off. He's bigger than he used to be already, but he still hasn't had that last growth spurt that turns a boy into a man.

"If you ever feel uncomfortable, you have to speak up. No means no, and you're always allowed to say it. That goes for me and everyone else who touches you. Consent is nine tenths of the law, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

The tension drains from his frame. "Not even you?"

"Especially me."

Mob's hips twitch when I hook my thumbs in the elastic waistband of his shorts. I yank them away from his stomach along with his underwear so I can get a good look at his erection. It stands out against the red uniform bunched around his thighs, pointed toward his navel in a gentle arc.

"There you go," I say as I take him in my hand. "That feels better, doesn't it?"

His head dips, but I can't quite tell if it's a nod. I draw back and he turns to watch me slick my hand with spit. Is he curious? Mob isn't the kind of person to shy away the facts of life.

"Usually I use lotion, but saliva will work in a pinch." He squeezes his eyes closed when my palm glides over his cock. "Never use anything oil based, especially with a condom. That can break down the latex."

"I know."

The half-stifled whimper has my balls drawn up close. He jumps when I close my wet hand around him, scrotum and shaft all at once. The next time a noise claws its way out of his throat, he covers his face with his hands.

"You don't need to hold back your voice," I tell him. "It's important to show your partner what you like, understand?"

Okay, so maybe that isn't entirely necessary. Especially since I can tell what Mob likes regardless. It's pretty hard to ignore a full body tremor pressed against your torso. After the next stroke his knees become jello, and the only warning of the impending fall is a sharp intake of breath.

He buckles but I catch him just in time, hauling him up - he's heavier than he used to be, but he's not that heavy - while twisting my wrist and pumping him steady. Mob's muffled groan wrenches something protective inside me, some secret desire to teach him a lesson so guys like me can't get away with shit like this, until he moans and it all flies out the metaphorical window.

My lower half awakens at Mob's quiet calls, thrumming with blood. He stays stock still while my cock throbs and I tilt my pelvis like it's a reflex, accidentally nudging Mob from behind.

"Shishou, are you - "

Maybe in the end, I'm the immature one. Will I ever be ready to hear him say it? He makes a vulnerable face and I think about sticking my dick in his mouth. Now my own imagination has got me feeling guilty, worse than a dog that's peed in the house.

"Don't worry about it. Someone your age shouldn't be concerned about such things."

But it's a little late for talk like that, isn't it? To be more precise, Mob is going to blow any second, and not in the usual way either. His cock is pale and warm in my palm, silky smooth when I pull the foreskin over the head and back, thumb slick with precum.

"You're close, aren't you?" I can't squash the chuckle before it leaves my mouth. "Girls will like it if you learn to hold out for a bit."

I slow the pace but never stop, holding him loosely in my fist. His smaller fingers slowly encircle mine, desperate for a faster, tighter grip. When I don't concede he moves his ass back against me. Even through the clothes it's electrifying, the idea of Mob at my mercy, the way it's always been.

He stops pushing when I don't respond in kind. "Are you mad?"

"That's not exactly the word I would use." I'm trying not to grind my molars into dust but it's not working. "Be a good boy and stop wiggling around so much. I'm trying to focus."

The muscles in his stomach contract and his whole body goes stiff at the sound of praise. His hands tighten around the arm I'm bracing his weight with. Every time he squirms I can feel the seam of my pants digging into my throbbing cock. At this rate, I don't know how long I can hold back. The friction is killing me!

"Relax and let me take care of everything," I say, keeping my tone even.

I bring him to the brink and back, until he's panting and hot, pressed up against me. I lick a stripe across his neck, which feels more intimate than just jacking him off. For the first time, I think about kissing him, about pushing my tongue against his and feeling the shape of his teeth.

"Can you tell me how?" He twists around until our eyes meet. There's just no freaking way he's as innocent as he looks. "Please."

"Mob," I say, nearing my wits end. My voice sounds like the bottom of a fish tank. "I'm sure you know how -"

Except. He's making that face. Of course he knows how. I know he knows how, because I've seen him do it. And he knows I know he knows. Which can only mean one thing: he wants me to tell him what to do. I turn his face away, thumb lingering on his lip.

"Okay, we're gonna count together, and you're gonna blow your load on three." I give him a squeeze to make sure he's listening and his whole body jerks. "Got it?" He bucks into my hand, feet no longer brushing the floor. "One, two…"

Mob's voice is lost in the shuffling of my hand as his muscles lock up one at a time. "Three!"

His eyes roll back in his head and he gasps, breathless as he ejaculates into my moving palm, soaked with his own cum. He flinches, oversensitive, when I continue to jerk him off. The flash is blinding; he blinks dazedly into the camera lens as I work him through the aftershocks. I let him go when his heartbeat finally settles and he can hold his own weight.

"Now that is what they call the money shot." I readjust the crotch of my pants as I step away and show him the screen of the phone. "And a damn good photo."


End file.
